Barbara (10 page)

The minister and his wife only put in a brief appearance that afternoon; they had probably had a talk in the small sitting room. The old folk did not think it had been right of Anna Sophie to miss the service. But of course, they said nothing.

Pastor Poul had gone out. He met no one in the deserted streets. As he approached Nýggjastova he slowed his pace. In the midst of all the cheerlessness it was a profound joy to him to know that Barbara lived in this house. Was she in there, perhaps? Perhaps it was more likely that she was at the bailiff’s home together with Suzanne.

On the sand, where the river ran out into the East Bay, the ducks lay with their beaks hidden beneath their wings. They uttered some alarmed quacks as he went by, but they were far too lazy to be bothered moving. They were the ducks that belonged to Springus and Whoops and Katrine the Cellar. Every family had its own, but they were without artificial markings – the local people knew the town’s ducks as well as they knew each other. Well, it may be that Bailiff Harme did not know the ducks so well, although he lived quite nearby, but he had greater things to see to. As for Pastor Poul, he simply did not see the ducks he walked amongst. He was solely concerned with the thought that at that very moment it might be that he was being observed from a window. And so he was; he was being observed from a large number of windows. All the womenfolk in Gongin were very interested and for the following hour that afternoon, the great subject of discussion was that they had seen the new minister jump the stones across the river and go up into the outfield.

The southerly wind continued to blow a greyish mist in across the town. The ducks sat there, huddled together in the wind. But then, suddenly, something happened.

No one knew who first raised the alarm. It was not the lookout in the Redoubt, although he was the obvious one.

Someone or other, who had been out on some errand, had been the first to see the sight… and three minutes later all

Tórshavn had seen it: crowds of people could be seen behind the corner of every house looking down towards the shore.

“Oh, Jesus have mercy on us!”

Large sails had appeared on the horizon. They stood out there like an evil and far too obvious sign. The old women were the ones who wailed loudest. These ships must mean trouble. They wailed and they wept, their teeth chattered, and they tried to warm their cold hands beneath their Sunday aprons.

Aye, there was nothing else to be expected. The last trading ship of the year had been there and left. Besides,
such
huge sails: it was obvious to everyone that this was no ordinary ship.

A moment later and another ship appeared on the horizon.

Terror was already tensing its back in preparation. It was at first like a little smoking fuse, and then suddenly it was like a blaze that was reflected in everyone’s eyes, and finally it broke out in a wild confusion of shouting, weeping and cursing.

There was no real hesitation. There was only one thing to be done. Save what could be saved – household appliances, bedclothes, a little wool that had been put aside, anything at all! – And then up into the mountains. Tramping Englishmen and drunken Scots had often come ashore, broken their way into chests and cupboards, slaughtered the cattle and dragged folk away to fish off Iceland. This was something everyone had heard about. And that was not even the worst thing. On one occasion great hoards of heathens – Turks or black men it was said – had laid waste and burned on Suduroy, slaughtering to obtain food and dragging over thirty women and children off from their quiet homes to unknown devilish slavery. That was the most dreadful thing anyone could talk about. Nor had Tórshavn always escaped. Some years ago a French crew had destroyed the Redoubt and plundered the town.

The Faroese, who were themselves the descendants of pirates, had over the centuries been tamed by poverty and isolation. They had turned into a shy and faint-hearted people. Faced with foreigners, they knew but one defence – flight up into the inaccessible mountains. Now the whole of Tórshavn was on the move at the sight of three large sails on the horizon.

Someone had started beating a drum somewhere in the alleyways. There was someone there who had not lost courage. Otto Hjørring, that dull dog, was perhaps not just a loud mouth after all. But he was so drunk. With one hand he was holding the more than half dead drummer by the collar and with the other he was waving his drawn sword. He hit out at Beach Flea’s dilapidated gable so that the chimney almost fell down. But Beach Flea was not at home; his wife had sent him down to the Sands to fetch the duck. And as for
her
, she had always feared the commandant, but today she only feared the pirates. And so it was with all the women. With their arms full of spinning wheels, infants and dried fish, they streamed in terror through Gongin, wept, fell down, got up again and forever implored God’s help. The huts were deserted and left with their doors open, and the fire in the hearth was left to go out.

The men fled rather more slowly, indeed there were those who wondered whether it was necessary to flee straight away. But that was one thing; another was to have to don a red uniform, white gaiters and tall grenadier hats, face the enemy and defend oneself as a soldier of the king – that was probably more than Otto Hjørring, the drunken wretch, could persuade them to do.

Gabriel had spent that afternoon together with Magdalene, the judge’s widow, helping her to go through the old bureau. His chubby hands eagerly slid back and forth across the woodwork, searching; he tapped gently and indomitably here and there in order to find hollow places. There was not the least little thing, not a single thing, no yellowing mortgage deed that had not seen the light of day. But the treasure in the secret compartment still refused to materialise. But there was no doubt about that –
if
it was there, he would find it all right. This was quite a different search from what Magdalene with her withered fingers had ever been able to carry out, and she was very grateful to her nephew for the strength and determination he revealed. The bureau actually groaned beneath his hand. He had started to deal with it very firmly. It looked extremely shabby and as though its dignity was offended with all the empty pigeon holes and their contents spread over tables and chairs.

Gabriel tried and tried and thought and thought. But his thoughts were as much on Barbara as on the bureau. Aye, if only he had known
her
innermost pigeonholes. In recent days it had been almost an obsession. This new minister for Vágar – was it to be his turn now? Could it be that there was already something going on between them? He kept watch as much as possible, but the store occupied him every day. He was in Nýggjastova each evening. He mocked, he insinuated, he paid court, but Barbara merely smiled secretively and protested when he went much further than was acceptable.

Barbara enjoyed him. She was so musical. There was not a shade, not the slightest intonation in his voice that escaped her. She heard his heartbeats. She heard the pitiful dog deep down in Gabriel howling and asking her to say it was all a lie. And how she played with this dog! But her kind heart often ran away with her, and then she said it was not true. But every time she said that, she secretly thought, “Suppose it were true.” And then she smiled, and Gabriel’s dog howled again.

She could finally scarcely do without his chatter, and when Gabriel turned his attention to the bureau, she was not far from sulking. She went out and before long returned with Suzanne.

When they heard the shouting and the din outside, Magdalene was afraid. But Gabriel had his wits about him. He grabbed old Judge Stenderup’s telescope and went up a stepladder to the top loft. Barbara and Suzanne hurried after him. But Magdalene continued to go around moaning, “Oh, Jesus, it’s a pirate ship.”

“Of course it’s not,” shouted Gabriel, staring out across the sea with a knowledgeable expression on his face. But there was just a touch of fear in his voice.

The three of them stood in a group around the little window in the gable and took it in turns to look through the telescope. Barbara was flushed with excitement and almost hopped about on the rickety floor. Suzanne said nothing.

Gabriel said he believed they were warships.

“Are they? Are they? Let
me
see.”

“Even if they are warships, it may be too early to feel pleased,” said Suzanne. “Men from warships can also ransack a town and burn it down. We’ve seen that before.”

Gabriel was anything but pleased. It looked as though the ground was beginning to burn beneath his feet. He slowly descended the ladder. But Barbara and Suzanne could not tear themselves away from the window. They stared and stared, spoke breathlessly, both at the same time, interrupting each other, fighting over the telescope and all the time shouting, “Let
me
see. Let
me
see.”

Barbara was far too careless about her skirts. She gave not a thought to the ladder below. Gabriel could see her legs.

“Oh, Christ have mercy on us,” Magdalene went on complaining. She looked around irresolutely at all her things that lay scattered around all over the sitting room.

“Yes, we’d probably better get all that out of the way,” said Gabriel in a flat voice.

Magdalene started haphazardly gathering her papers together.

“Good heavens,” Suzanne’s voice was heard from above. “Suppose they are pirates and they come and rape us both.”

Barbara suddenly laughed in a warm descant; her eyes were radiant: “Yes. And fancy how sorry everyone will be for us afterwards. That will be the most amusing thing of all.”

Gabriel could still see her legs.

“Don’t just stand up there and get randy,” he shouted. It was supposed to sound jaunty and playful, but it was a howl of pain. Then he tore himself away and rushed out.

He had regained his strength. Like a wounded whale, he worked his way forward through Gongin against the crowd. When he had reached Reyn, he encountered the last fugitives. He rushed into the empty apartment to carry his belongings to safety.

But Barbara and Suzanne had scarcely noticed his disappearance. They were becoming more and more entranced by the ships.

“I can see one of them quite clearly now,” shouted Barbara: “There are three rows of cannon on it and a gilt figure on the prow.” She clapped her hands.

The law speaker came walking through Gongin. He could hardly be said to be hurrying, but alert observers would nevertheless have noticed that he was raising his heels rather more quickly from the ground than usual. His face was also strangely tense.

Bailiff Harme was quite beside himself. His wig was askew and he was waving a long Dutch chalk pipe in the air. He had started to shout for Suzanne and looked rather apoplectic. When he caught sight of the law speaker he calmed down for a moment. This huge figure was like a rock in the maelstrom. If Samuel Mikkelsen was dispirited, it could at least not be seen in his face. He looked as thoroughly kind and quiet as usual. But he was not in a position to give any advice to the frightened bailiff.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” he said. “I’m so undecided, but I think I will stay where I am. But the rest of you can get away if you like. There is no knowing. For of course, they
could
mean trouble.”

Several people had gathered outside the bailiff’s house. They were unwilling to let themselves be seen to be too afraid. It was worth seeing what the top dogs decided to do.

But the bailiff was quite incapable of deciding on anything at all. He bustled to and fro. Now he had three ledgers under his arm. The law speaker simply stood there. Just stood.

The judge appeared. As usual, he stroked his chin.

“It will be a cause of shame to us all,” he said, “if they turn out now to be friendly warships and the people on board find no one here, either in the town or in the Redoubt.”

“That is my feeling, too,” said Samuel Mikkelsen quietly.

And there they both stood.

Pastor Wenzel came struggling through Gongin with a huge burden on his back. He was almost ready to drop beneath silver, fine garments and bedclothes.

The judge’s lips twitched a little. He could not resist it: “Oh riches and gold, – you idols of earth so fair to behold.”

The minister glanced at him from under the eiderdowns, but he maintained a furious silence.

But the ordinary people were simply horrified. This man of God! They had never seen him like this before. Anna Sophie came along with the two old women. They looked so small and withered in the crowd here. The wind blew in Ellen Katrine’s silvery white hair. It was a wretched sight.

People were again gripped by fear. The crowd started to move, while the bailiff with his ledgers continued to call out: “Suzanne. Suzanne.”

Something caught the light somewhere higher up. Barbara opened the gable window in Nýggjastova and leaned out: “They are not pirates! Can’t you see that?”

Her voice was somewhere between irritation and laughter. It sounded as though she had been interrupted in the midst of something very amusing and was irritated that people could not understand it was all a joke.

Everyone started. Barbara’s arms were resting on the window ledge, round and calm. She was wearing a blue dress, pale and flushed and with warmth in her voice. She was a picture of good humour and roguishness in the midst of the cold terror.

“Can’t you understand?” she continued, “big ships like these can’t be pirate vessels. They must be warships.”

There was general hesitation. The law speaker shaded his eyes with his hand and stared out across the sea. Then he turned and with a little smile said, “I really think Barbara is right.”

Barbara was radiant. “Yes, don’t you think so? They have a white flag.”

“A white flag with golden lilies?” asked the judge.

“Yes, I think so.” She took the telescope: “Yes, a white flag with some gold in it.”

“Oh, that’s a quite different matter, quite different.” The bailiff began to adopt his official deportment again. “Then they’re French, and we are not at war with them.”

“As far as I know, Denmark is not at war with anyone,” said the law speaker sarcastically.